Be Still
by ScullysGone
Summary: If terror falls upon your bed; And sleep no longer comes; Remember all the words I said; Be still, be still, and know; Can Gibbs save Sloane from the monsters in her head, or will she refuse to Be Still
1. Chapter 1

**Notes at the end**

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"_I feel the worst when I am alone because that's when the monsters in my head say hello…"_

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It was always in the tawny part dawn that she felt the most afraid. If the sun stopped rising, refused to complete its vanquish of night, how could she ever escape the translucent world of semi-conscious terror that sleeplessness imprisoned her in? In that yellow-brown fragment of time, before the explosion of light across a new day, she would pant and sweat and pray.

And every morning, the sun rose. A fiery beacon, pushing away the black of night, ushering her to move from fear to fight. Daylight was her savior in many ways, keeping her head clear and her eyes focused. She could move and work and do things to help other people. She could surround herself with people who had strengths she could use to hold herself together, even if they didn't know it.

In the light, she could push back the memories of all the bad things that happened to her in the dark. In the light, she could hide the pain.

She'd tried laying the Wingos to rest, burying the box of patches at their graves in Arlington. She'd visited Hale's mother in Reston, though that had proven to be a very big mistake. She wanted to tell the woman every good and honorable thing she could remember about her son. But Mrs. Hale kept asking about Afghanistan. About their capture and the torture and why her son had died and Jack wouldn't – couldn't – tell her about those things. The poor woman had sobbed, become angry and bitter and threw Jack out eventually.

But when the darkness came…

When the darkness came, it roared like a lion and consumed her with gnashing teeth that ripped apart her soul; night after endless night, the darkness left her on the floor, soaked in tears and sweat and anguish. She could see Masahun's face, smell the rankness of his breath and dry, desert sand.

As dusk approached, the trembling in her hands started before she even began shutting down her office for the weekend. Sweat began to bead at her temples, in between her shoulder blades. Contemplating staying on the sofa under the windowed wall, she stalled at the computer. A soft knock at the door turned her attention.

"Hey, you about to head out?"

"Hey Gibbs. Ummm…you know, I was thinking I'm might stay and catch up on some…ummm…I was thinking I would just stay."

He stepped into the room and moved towards her, concern and confusion on his face.

"You ok, Jack?"

She fumbled, not prepared for him to ask and certainly not prepared to give him an honest answer.

"Mm hmm."

It was a terrible attempt to convince of anything other than her being a terrible liar. He cocked his head to one side, that enigmatic Gibbs Tilt.

"Well, you know where I'll be if you need anything."

"Yeah, I do. Thanks, Gibbs. Have a good weekend."

Before his back was through the door and down the hall, she knew she wouldn't stay in her office that night. Nor would she be going home.

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**The title comes from the song "Be Still" by The Fray (yes, the one that play at the end of "Two Steps Back" S15E22) It's PERFECT for this piece.**

**I don't own anything. I'm working my way through S16 right now and I have pulled the plug on viewing because I don't want to ruin what I want for this story. I have most of it written already, but I'm posting in chapters to gauge reaction; I'm a glutton and like comments, so please feed my appetite :-P**

**This is my first attempt at Gibbs and I'm scared to death I'm going to eff him up - I have confidence in my writing, but I take it very seriously and it has taken me a LONG time to get the guts to attempt him. It's only because of Sloane that I'm even trying this one. Mark and Maria have MAD chemistry!**

**I've stayed as close to cannon as possible throughout, though I don't have a place in the timeline for this. Also, I did need to invent a few things - like the visit to Hale's mother (duh) - creative license and all.**

**I hope y'all enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes at the end.**

* * *

The front door opened without protest. Of course it did; Gibbs never locked his own house. She had walked through it countless times, at least half a dozen unannounced, and had yet to find his inner dwelling inaccessible.

It had made sense to her within two days of being in the office with him. Why would he lock up a house of things when, clearly, everything he cared about in the world was on his team.

She felt the warmth before she saw the flame. Walking through the foyer into the living room, it struck Jack that, no matter the season, Gibbs always had a fire burning. Winter. Summer. It didn't matter. The house itself seemed to live and breathe with his coming and going, the glowing embers its beating heart.

She closed her eyes, the scent of smoke filling her up, lifting her outside herself. For a brief moment, there was nothing beyond the heartbeat of the fireplace and the heartbeat in her chest.

No fear. No memories. No pain.

It was a moment she would never forget; a moment she hoped she would never remember.

"Hey."

Startled, suddenly consumed by panic she couldn't have suppressed, even if she'd anticipated it, her firing hand instinctively dropped to the SIG-Sauer at the small of her back

"Whoa, Sloane. Easy."

His voice had the smooth quality of a seasoned agent. The voice of a confident man, even when faced with a friend with questionable sanity, likely armed and reaching, standing in his living room.

Her ears barely registered the sound of her own name before her vision left her. Wild, aubourn eyes, the color nearly swallowed by dilated pupils, searched, looked through him, saw nothing.

With involuntary precision, capable fingers laced around the grip of her sidearm, trigger finger parallel along the barrel, and she felt herself begin to unholster the gun. Sixteen ounces of aluminum alloy and stainless steel. Seven rounds in the magazine. One in the chamber. Safety off.

"Jack?"

Blood rushed through her veins, roared in her ears and deafened her, amplifying fear in the consuming silence. It felt like her nightmares, when sleep stole her vigilance. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, and yet all at once. So fast and so slow, she couldn't tell if she was moving or standing still.

"Sloane?"

The gun in her hand didn't slow - didn't stop; the barrel kept rising. Vision still eluded, the shadow remaining a dark and forbidding unknown.

Masahun. He had come for her, she was sure of it. She should have killed him when she'd had the chance, a mistake that wouldn't be repeated. She jerked harder on the weapon, poised to empty it into the darkness. If she missed, he'd kill her and the nightmare would end, anyway.

Win-win.

"Lieutenant!"

She aimed. Screamed. Pulled the trigger...

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**It's short, but it's meant to be. Don't give up yet...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Be Warned: Descriptions of Torture, though not in detail**

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Steam rose from the mug between his hands. The earthy smells of coffee and sawdust mingled with the lingering smoke and grounded her for the moment.

He had materialized from the basement door just beyond the kitchen, his jeans lightly dusted with sawdust. She hadn't heard him, missed his footsteps on the stairs and the flick of the light switch he always turned off when emerging from his place of peace. Lost in the moment at the fireplace, she had simply been caught completely off her guard.

Almost an hour had passed since he'd made coffee, stoked the fire, and sat down next to her on the couch, waiting.

Quiet.

Just…there.

It was what she had come for, after all. The simple calmness of his presence. He simply existed and that was what she sought when she walked through his door. A stolen moment of peace, just to get her through one night in the storm.

At some point, she knew, he'd ask why she'd come, though. Sitting in silence all night wasn't going to cut it. Gibbs carried a look of knowing, telling her she wouldn't have to say much. But, she could tell him some things. Hard things. She wanted to.

She could, without giving too much away.

"I haven't slept since we arrested Hakim."

Nervous energy flowed through fingers that fidgeted with the corner of the blanket draped around her. She'd started shaking when she finally realized she'd heard him yell 'Lieutenant'. Like a light had been switched on, she could see clearly again. Hear the popping of the embers. Smell the sawdust and smoke.

The gun had fallen away and her body had begun to tremble.

A gun, it turned out, she hadn't even held. Though, she would have put her right hand on The Good Book it had been emptied into the shadowed figure. Into him. She shook the thought from her mind.

The weight of it had been as real as any of the other details in her memory. The coolness of the metal. The kick of the recoil with each shot fired. And yet, it had never been there. She was afraid she really was losing her mind.

"All those years thinking Masahun was dead, only to find him sitting next to me. Here. Not in some dark, horrid, underground sand pit. But right here in DC."

She inhaled sharply.

"I mean…its brought everything back, Gibbs. So many details…they just...explode...in front of me every time I close my eyes. And it's so real. All over again."

Boiling inside, she felt the acid in her stomach churn, the burn reaching the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, pulled in another shaky breath.

She felt the solid weight of him next to her, almost close enough to lean into, to hold her up. It took all her self-control not to reach for his hand, an anchor against the hell she was walking through.

She spoke of things she hadn't put words to in nearly a decade. Of The Monster's early games, the simple days of fists and feet, and hands tied behind their backs. Those were to soften them up, loosen resolves and lips.

Then they were moved to arms tied high and whips, car batteries and bugs inside a confinement box. They were kept in the dark, kept in blinding light, electrocuted and nearly drowned. Inhuman things were done to her. Things that would make a garden variety rapist at Rikers blush.

She was proud of her men, she told Gibbs; even after the worst had been done to them, not a single piece of their intelligence had been given up during their captivity.

Not even after King was dead and she thought she'd never feel anything as hollow and black as losing one of her men.

Masahun came up with his favorite game after that. He had failed to break her men. But he figured he had come up with the perfect plan to break her - just her - using her men against her.

One by one, he threatened to pick them off. King was already dead. Anshimi and Hale were brought before her, bloodied and thin and terrified. Masahun told her to 'pick one' and moved the barrel of his pistol from one to the other.

The exhaustion and terror and anger had made stopping her tears impossible. Masahun had laughed, sadistic pleasure in her weakness as a woman. 'Tell me what I want to know, infidel, and I'll send them home alive' he'd lied. She'd known he wouldn't.

She also knew she couldn't break. As commanding officer, it was her duty to maintain the integrity of their mission, to hold it together in the face of the worst their captors could inflict upon them.

But they were her men. It was her duty to protect them. To sacrifice herself for them. If she could just get Masahun focus on her...leave them alone...without giving away their intelligence.

The impossibility of her situation, the cries of her men, and her own fear - she had to figure out how to save them.

"Hale just kept saying 'it's ok'. "It's ok, Sloane, it's ok." All I wanted him to do was shut up. I couldn't...I couldn't think. I couldn't…make a... nine months…I just ..."

Tears came like snow melt from high mountains in Spring, landed in small explosions on the trembling palms of her outstretched hands. She held them there, a pleading gesture; why couldn't shut his mouth?

"I... need him to be quiet...to stop for just a second so I can...think of a way out of this. I can get us out of this. Just be quiet for a minute."

She spoke as if he knelt before her, her mind's eye fixed on a far-away place. The smell of the fireplace drifted away, replaced by an acrid scent she couldn't name but would always remember.

She smelled burning metal and urine, the dry Afghan sand and gunpowder and blood.

"Hale…"

Her upper body flinched, the muscles of her face and hands clenching. A whisper escaped through lips she couldn't feel moving.

"No. I didn't choose him. I just...be quiet Hale."

Sloane felt her own heartbeat stop, held her breath, pleaded for the memory to be scrambled; she begged her subconscious to replay the real way it all went down. To show Masahun's bullet exploding the back of her own head, her own body falling to the ground in a lifeless mass.

The fire's glow faded from her periphery and she felt herself fall forward. Gibbs caught her, his hands on her shoulders, pulled her into his chest. He smoothed the sweat-soaked hair from her face, wiped away the wetness, kissed her forehead. She felt him holding her, the arms that built boats in the basement and chased killers in the dark trying to pull up out of the dark.

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**Stick with me...**


	4. Chapter 4

The primal howl ringing in her ears sounded barely human, let alone something that could come from her own body.

"Shhhh."

He was trying to soothe her, to stop the pain. He didn't know that she would never let him do that. No matter how badly she wanted to.

She had killed them, and nothing could change that. But she felt so safe inside his arms...

Cold sweat sent icy fingers down to the small of her back; she shot from his embrace, bursting off the couch, wild and angry.

"Hey..."

She didn't answer. Arms and hair flew around like a great wind blew through the room. She swiped at clinging strands and searing guilt, trying to claw her way out from under both.

"Slow down, Jack."

She spun around, cut him off through grit teeth and fresh tears, her voice throaty and dogmatic, each word an accusation.

"This isn't something I get to have, Gibbs! Dammit! I need to go."

"Go where, Jack?!"

"I just...I didn't come here for this."

She hadn't, had she? This was the cost, the bridge man's toll for everything she'd done. Everything she'd failed to do. The pain was hers to carry forever and she hadn't come so Gibbs could make her feel safe.

"You didn't come for what, Jack?"

She turned for the door, trying desperately to keep moving away from him.

"Hey! Stop, dammit!"

He was off the couch in half a heartbeat, chasing her escape.

"You better figure out what the hell you're running away from, Sloane. There's nothing out there for you!"

"You don't understand, Gibbs!"

"The hell I don't!"

"You DON'T!"

"You think, because I wasn't there, I can't understand, Jack?! You think I don't know what you're going through?!"

"You CAN'T, Gibbs!"

The way she spit out his name made her feel dirty. She'd been to war with the finest, most honorable men and women in the world, yet none were close to Gibbs' equal. This man, who fought every battle like his wife and daughter were on the other side of the wire. The same man who never gave up, who never stopped fighting.

He stood before her quietly, anger and frustration gone from his face.

"You think you're the guilty one, Jack."

It wasn't a question. He said it to her as if finally putting to sound a secret only she knew. She stared at him through her tears, watched his own rise against a sea of blue.

"You think you killed your men. By simply not being enough to save them."

His stare fixed her silence. Understanding - the kind born only of common experience - pushed across the empty space between them.

"And you think you don't deserve the rest of your life. At all. Especially when you feel anything other than the purest pains for misery. Because that's what you owe them, right?"

His voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, the gravity of his words weighing it down until she was sure he would soon stop making sound at all.

"To spend the rest of your life paying for your failure. Never sigh with relief. Never rest. Never be warmed by anything other than the fire of self-hatred inside your own chest."

He put a fist to his chest.

"And to never, EVER, allow yourself a single moment of peace, because you stole the rest of their lives from them. Stole it with your failure."

He finally blinked, his tears released.

He turned from her then, walked to the couch, and sat; not the collapsing fall of a defeated man, but the purposeful positioning of a man who had come to terms with himself.

The wetness stayed on his face.

"I was in Iraq when Shannon and Kelly were killed. Shannon witnessed a crime, a murder, at Camp Pendleton, and was determined to see the killer brought to justice. You think I'm stubborn - "

He chuckled, shook his head a little.

" - couldn't hold a candle to Shannon. You would have liked her."

He smiled at her for a brief second, and then continued.

"The man she saw turned out to be the leader of a Mexican drug cartel. Pedro Hernandez. They died in a car wreck when the NCIS agent escorting them to the courthouse was shot by Hernandez."

Fresh pain flashed across his face.

"Ari Haswari murdered Agent Todd...Kate...to hurt me. I had the chance to kill him - I didn't - and he murdered her."

He took a deep breath.

"And Ziva…"

His voice broke.

"They all died because of me, Jack. Because I failed to protect them. I failed them."

Finally, he dropped his eyes, his calloused hands pushed through silver hair, and she took a breath for what felt the first time since she'd stopped moving. There were no words she could say, even if she could have spoken.

"Jack, I can't fight this battle for you. But I can promise you - I understand."

His eyes met hers again, filled with knowing.

"I know why you don't sleep. Why you put yourself out there, busting your ass to rescue everyone else - but refuse to let anyone in. I know why you came here tonight, and why that's killing you."

She wanted to go to him, to collapse and cry and feel anything other than alone but she couldn't allow herself the first step.

"It took me over twenty years to realize what a mistake I'd made, Jack. The same mistake you're making now. People who loved me tried to tell me - wouldn't listen."

Shaking his head, he stood from the couch and moved toward her, his shifting proximity lifting her feet from the hardwood and pushing her backwards, away from his absolution.

"Gibbs..."

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Jack, you're wrong."

"Gibbs…"

She shook her head at him; nausea and dizziness threatened to knock her down.

"No, you listen to me, Jack. Twenty years of pushing everyone away because I thought I owed my wife and daughter a lifetime of misery. Of pain. Listen to how that sounds. Is that what your men would want from you? Think about it…"

Logic and emotion made lousy bedfellows she thought as she looked through a watery screen of tears.

"I killed him…"

"No, Jack! Nigel Hakim killed him!"

His urgency frightened her, made the blood drain from her face. The remains of her meticulously crafted wall crumbled and the full measure of frailty spilled out. Weeks of little food and even less sleep had taken their toll; she had become a shell of herself.

Without sound, she collapsed. Gibbs caught her before she could hit the floor, his capable hands taking care to cradle her against him softly. Leaning her against his chest, she felt his arm under her shoulders as the other slid under her legs. He lifted her smoothly and walked to the couch.

"Easy, Jack. I got'cha."

She could hear herself crying, hated how weak she felt. But the strength of his arms around her was more than she was willing to fight and she found herself sinking into their warmth, lost in their safety.

Everything about the way he held her, the way he covered her, smoothed the hair from her face, and pulled the blanket over her trembled frame, made her feel protected. Like the darkness could never touch her again. She knew it was a fantasy, of course. But for one delusional moment, she bought the lie and allowed her eyes to close.

Sleep came hard and fast.

* * *

When she woke, the familiar smell of burning wood and coffee filled the sunlit room. The unfamiliar feeling of Gibbs' body behind hers gave her pause as she tried to find a purchase in reality. She could feel the weight of his legs, wound seamlessly over and under hers, and the warmth of his breath against the skin of her ear. His arms still protectively around her, flashes of the previous night's drama began to play in her mind, her heartbeat and breath quickening.

"Just be still, Jack. You're ok."

His voice came to her like a salve over angry wounds, instant relief to burning flesh. He kissed her, gently and chastely against the hair on her neck. Such a simple gesture and yet it sent a wave of calm she'd never take for granted.

"Just breathe."

So she did. In and out, matching his own. And she listened as he spoke quietly behind her.

"Bad people killed the ones we loved, Jack. Not us. The hardest thing I've had to learn was how to live without my wife and daughter. I can't tell you how you'll figure it out the next part of your life. But what I know for sure is this; what we owe them isn't more pain. It isn't more suffering. We owe them life. Good life. Because it's what they would have given us if they were here. It's what they would have been kicking our asses for not living up till now."

Tears began to fall as she heard his words, took them in and tried to believe them.

"I can't fight this for you, Jack. But I'll be here - every step of the way. It won't be easy, but you have to fight it. And I'll be right here."

She answered his promise, pulling his arms tighter around her. If he could believe he was supposed to live a better life, then so could she. He'd lost so much more, and still he fought.

And so would she.

* * *

**I'm still crying...**

**and it's not over :-P**


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

Scrambled eggs and bacon sat on plates in the middle of the table. Coffee steamed in mugs and plates sat with silverware and napkins at the far end, one at the head and the other just to the side.

His and hers.

It had been eight weeks since that first night. He'd called Director Vance and put them both on leave, indefinitely; Leon needed no explanation, knowing full-well what Jack had been through.

She had only made it inside her own home twice since then, and never alone; not even in the daylight.

Not that she hadn't tried - only once, though. She hadn't even made it to her own front door before collapsing in panic; PTSD was a bitch.

An elderly neighbor had found her crouched in the elevator, shaking and rocking, with tears and sweat soaking her face. He'd gone, calmed her, and quoted Rule 25: When you need help, ask. Except she hadn't thought she needed any, she told him. She needed to start getting back to normal, didn't she? She couldn't stay at his house forever, right?

He'd been upset, called her stubborn and ridiculous, but kissed her gently and took her home. And he never let her go back alone. They returned twice, together, for her overnight things, and then to pack up her most important things when she put it on the market.

After that first disastrous attempt at going back, it didn't take much convincing for her to understand she could never live there again. Never lay her head down to sleep where so many terrible nightmares had nearly robbed her of sanity.

Staying with him took no convincing at all. The nightmares still came, the panic still crept in, but he was always there. Always ready to reach into hell and bring her out of the darkness. He doubted he could have made her leave, even if he'd wanted to.

He sat on the couch and watched as she moved about the kitchen, the soft hum from her lips floating through the room.

"Smells good."

She whipped her long curls around, a broad smile across her face. He thought maybe he'd never seen her look better; the soles of her bare feet peeked out from under her tip-toe steps, the way her calf muscles were beginning to come back into shape as she danced around the galley, putting the finishing touches on whatever she was putting finishing touches on.

"Almost done! You gettin' hungry, Cowboy?"

He chuckled. She had come so far, was so much better. She ate and slept, rarely refusing to do either anymore. She laughed. She smiled. She called him Cowboy often, and no longer pulled away when he held her hand, or her body.

The truth of his words, that they were supposed to live good lives, had taken hold.

What he didn't count on was how saving her would change his own life. How happy having her in his home could make him. How much joy simply seeing her every day would bring him.

For years, his team had been everything. When he finally allowed himself to live again, he'd accepted their place as his children - true daughters and sons, meant not just to be protected by a father, but to bring a father light and joy. They were his family, as dear as any born to a man.

But with Jack, it was if he had entered a new level of peacefulness. As if a second door had been opened, one he hadn't known could exist. Sometimes, when he least expected it, she could touch him a way that made a hole inside feel closed up. She would say something, or look at him in that way of hers, and something he hadn't realized was hurting would suddenly feel healed.

Though it was foreign and painful, he thought maybe he loved her. It made his heart hurt and swell and quicken.

Watching her spin back around, that hair flying in the air behind her, the conflicting sensations made him stand quickly from the couch. He couldn't love her, not like he had loved Shannon...his wife.

His wife. Her face filled his mind, the way she'd looked so long ago, standing on the parade grounds at Lejeune when he had shipped out to Iraq. Her auburn hair blowing in the wind, Kelly by her side, smiling and crying and waving. It was the last time he had seen them alive.

Like a rogue wave hitting a sea wall, the memory hit him full force; the last thing Shannon said before he boarded the bus…

"_Go ahead, Marine. It's ok. I love you."_

It was a gift, and he knew it. A release. Permission. Confirmation of all the things he had been telling Jack for the last two months; of all the things he had been telling himself for years.

"Alright, chow time. Damn, Gibbs!"

He was right behind her, close enough so she bumped into him when she turned, nearly spilling two cups of orange juice on both of them.

"Hey, Cowboy...you ok?"

All he could do was stare. He wanted to speak but didn't know exactly what to say. She set the cups on the counter behind her and put her hand on his face; he leaned into it, closed his eyes, breathed deeply.

"Yeah, Jack. I'm ok. I'm really...really...ok."

He kissed her then, gently but less chaste than ever before, without hesitation and without reserve. He loved her, and he'd be damned if she'd go another day not knowing it.

"We owe them a good life, Jack."

She smiled. He smiled.

"Damn right, Cowboy."


End file.
